Page 14 of Roaring Heat
"Then ask the right question."
"Fine," I snap. "Are you following me?"
He steps in, closing the distance too fast. My back bumps the siding, wood cool against my shoulder blades.
For a beat, everything stills. The air between us crackles like a live wire, charged and waiting. My breath stutters, caught between defiance and something far more dangerous. I feel the heat of him in front of me, my heartbeat echoing loud in my ears, and every nerve ending tuned to the space he hasn't touched yet. My fists tighten at my sides, not in defense, but in some frantic attempt to stay grounded. The silence stretches, thick withunspoken words and an ache I don’t want to name. He cages me in with a single hand braced above my head.
"No," he says, voice a growl now. "I’m watching over you. There’s a difference."
"Not from this angle."
His eyes flare. "Then maybe I need to make myself clearer."
And then he kisses me.
His mouth crashes onto mine with a hunger that feels raw and unfiltered, like a storm breaking loose after too long held back. There's no pretense, no gentleness, only the fierce demand of his lips on mine and the sheer intensity of being wanted this much. My breath catches, then dissolves, swept under the weight of him pressing me to the wall, one hand anchoring my hip while the other traps me in place.
His lips move against mine with a mix of heat and frustration, his stubble scraping my skin in the most delicious way, sending sparks across every nerve ending. I feel the full brunt of his strength, the rigid tension of his body molded against me, and it sets something wild loose inside my chest.
I kiss him back like I’ve been starved for it. Like I’ve wanted this far longer than I’ll ever admit. My fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him closer, clinging to the heat of him as if it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. Every brush of his tongue deepens the ache blooming between my thighs. My body answers without shame, pressing into him with a need I can no longer mask, the friction of our clothes maddening in its restraint.
The world tilts, narrows to nothing but him—his mouth, his hands, the overwhelming scent of sun-warmed cotton and heat-soaked skin. A low growl hums from his chest and into my mouth, vibrating along my spine like a promise of everything he’s holding back.
And I want him to lose control. I want him to press in, rough and unrelenting, until the ache in my chest has nowhere to go but out through the reckless way we devour each other. I want to feel the edge of his restraint snap, to know what it means when all that heat and hunger has no leash. Even as shame coils low in my gut, the need crackles louder. I want everything he's holding back, and I want it now.
Even as I drown in the kiss, a tremor of fear slices through me. Not fear of him, but of the wildfire he lights inside me. Of the way my body leans into every touch, every hungry press of his mouth, as if I’ve been waiting for him longer than I want to admit. I can feel myself unraveling thread by thread, surrendering to a pull that makes my logic flicker like a dying bulb. He makes me forget the reasons I came here, the mission, the caution. In this moment, all I know is the electric thrum of his lips on mine and the reckless ache blooming in my chest that screams for more.
Still, I don’t stop. I can’t. Every inch of me is lit up, trembling under his touch, wired with need that feels too fierce to name. My hands roam, grasping, not just for contact but for confirmation that this is real, that this pull between us isn't just madness spun from mist and silence. My skin burns where he touches me, where he doesn’t, the ache spiraling outward until it consumes everything but the want clawing through my chest. I can taste the urgency on his tongue, feel the hunger tightening his grip on my hip as if he’s trying to fuse us together. All that matters is the collision of mouths, the burn between us, the storm gathering behind my ribs and crashing through my veins.
It’s not soft. It’s not hesitant. It’s not even polite. It’s rough, full of teeth and tension and something darker. He pins me there with the weight of his mouth, his hand sliding down to grip my hip, anchoring me like he doesn’t trust the wind not to take me. And Ikiss him again like I mean it.
His hand trails up my side, not gentle, not rushed. Just sure. My breath hitches, caught somewhere between defiance and surrender. A thrum of heat pulses low in my belly, the ache as startling as it is undeniable. I hate how much I want this. Hate more how much I don’t want him to stop. The conflict twists inside me, sharp and breathless, but my body isn’t interested in debate. It arches toward him, craving the pressure, the promise, the ruin of this kiss. His other hand settles on the opposite wall, bracketing me in a heat trap I don’t want to escape. My fingers find his shirt and curl tight, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. To bring him in and damn the consequences.
I taste the salt on his lips, the sun from his skin. The groan that rumbles in his chest answers the one rising in mine. He presses harder, mouth slanting over mine like he means to undo every careful line I’ve drawn since arriving in this town.
His thigh nudges between mine, pinning me tighter, and my body responds before my brain can catch up. Heat floods my skin, sharp and hungry. I want. I want in a way that feels too big to fit in this moment, too dangerous to explore in daylight. Still, I chase the kiss like it owes me answers.
Then he breaks it.
Pulls back, panting, forehead pressed to mine. The air between us turns sharp, thin, like the room lost all its oxygen and forgot how to refill it. My knees feel unsteady, the press of the door behind me the only thing keeping me upright. Heat pulses through my limbs, too much and not enough, leaving me dizzy. I want to drag him back in, demand more, but my body is frozen in the echo of what we just unleashed.
"That’s what it looks like," he says, voice ragged, "when I stop holding back."
My pulse stutters.
He steps away without another word, leaving cool air in his wake. I blink hard, dazed, lips swollen, breath uneven. My body leans after him even as I plant my feet.
What the hell just happened?
I don’t chase him. Don’t call his name. I walk back to the cottage, hands trembling, mouth still tingling, and tell myself to breathe. It doesn’t work.
Inside, I fumble with my equipment bag and yank out the recorder. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for until I find it.
Timestamp: 2:13 a.m.
My fingers still. A bolt of disbelief zips down my spine, colliding with the pulse that jumps in my throat. The edges of the world feel sharper, suddenly overexposed, like the air around me has turned electric. I stare at the numbers, willing them to lie. But they don’t. My heart beats faster, uneven, as if trying to escape what I already know. This is real. The fog, the growl, the stare that pinned me through the dark. Something ancient pressed itself against the night, and left proof behind. And Beau… Beau didn’t just guess. He knew.
My fingers still.
